


Raising the Stakes (The Following Ancient History Remix)

by Sineala



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Post-Canon, Remix, Strip Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:37:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an attempt to interest Esca in a game of latrunculi, Marcus suggests an unusual wager: the removal of clothing. The ensuing game is not quite what Marcus was prepared for. (Yes, it's another Strip Latrunculi fic!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raising the Stakes (The Following Ancient History Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Nothing of Greater Value (The Secret Latrunculi Master Cover)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/184054) by [Carmarthen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmarthen/pseuds/Carmarthen). 



> A long time ago, [Carmarthen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmarthen/), [savvierthanu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/savvierthanu/) and I agreed that what Eagle fandom really needed was Strip Latrunculi. But we couldn't decide on a plot, so we agreed that we'd each write our own version. Carmarthen did. I didn't. Until now.
> 
> So this is fluffy cracky PWP Strip Latrunculi, two and a half years late. Esca is about as devious, though in a different way, and Marcus is a latrunculi nerd.
> 
> (And I borrowed the parenthetical title from Adam Ant.)

"No one can possibly be this bad at latrunculi."

The board was the aftermath of a battle: a bloodless one, but no less brutal for all that. Two of Marcus' stones had penned Esca's eagle-stone in a corner -- a corner! -- the most insulting of all possible victories. It was as if Esca had moved the piece headlong into the trap on purpose. The rest of Esca's pieces were long-gone, captured and sitting in a neat line on the side of the board; Marcus had been coaxing them into different arrangements while waiting for Esca to take his turns. Not that any of his drawn-out deliberation had helped in the slightest, for Marcus had won with the loss of only one piece.

Esca shrugged one bony shoulder, and in his half-lidded gaze was only bored disdain. "I suppose a man cannot be good at everything," he said. "If I am to have weaknesses, better that it be latrunculi than something more vital to life."

The loss did not gall him, then. Marcus could not quite imagine how it was so. If it had been him who had lost, he would have been furious. It was not, perhaps, one of his more admirable qualities, but he hated losing. At anything. And so he had played this game, the thieves' game, again and again, starting with lines scratched in the Clusine dirt, then his own game-board, carried all the way across the empire, set up in dim tents and beside the embers of cook-fires. He played and learned and played some more, until he'd gotten to the point where he could best the majority of men if he tried. It pleased him, that he excelled.

But Esca did not seem to care.

Marcus stared at him in disbelief, unsure if what upset him more was the apathy or Esca's absolute lack of skill. He wanted Esca to be good at this. Still healing as he was from the new injuries done him by their quest in the north, he could not yet ask Esca to spar or hunt with him, and he ached restlessly for some kind of pastime. Any kind. Even latrunculi.

"I'm sorry, Marcus." Esca seemed to sense the tenor of his very thoughts, for he sighed. "I know you like the game and I do not mean to malign it. It is only that I've always found it... boring."

"Boring?"

There was so much strategy, so many variations, so much intricacy! It was akin to being a general, in a war without death! And the feeling of winning, that great soaring gloriousness, pride in one's own skill -- there was hardly anything to match it! Marcus opened his mouth to protest more, but shut it again. He was not going to convince Esca by reiterating his point.

Esca gave another shrug. "That's the best way I can describe it. I played it with my brothers, when I was little and the weather kept us inside -- it is not quite the same game, our game, but it is close enough -- and whenever I play it all I think of is being nine years old and desperate to be doing anything else."

The reply made him glance, reflexively, toward the little gap in the outside door, through which the sky was still menacing, pouring down rain and sleet. Well. They were stuck inside for just the same reason. He couldn't find it in him to blame Esca for that.

And then an idea occurred to him. If latrunculi was boring, that couldn't be changed... but that didn't mean they couldn't fix the game that lived outside the game itself. He would just have to make it a more exciting undertaking.

"Would it be more interesting if we... raised the stakes?"

Strange as it seemed, he enjoyed the sight of color streaking across Esca's pale cheeks. Esca leaned forward, his lips parting in a smile. Now, that was more like it. A quiet, hidden part of Marcus' mind noted that there were several ways in which he enjoyed the sight, but he shoved the thought back hard. He would keep his perversions to himself. Esca did not need to know about _that_.

"Marcus!" breathed Esca, half in awe and half in reproach. "Whatever can you be suggesting? Gambling? You?"

He thought that Esca's opinion of him had perhaps just risen severalfold.

"Not for coin," he said, automatically, because he had no wish to deprive Esca of money.

Then he realized what option was left to him and he could feel his own mouth twisting into an embarrassed grin. He hadn't quite meant-- well, all right, maybe part of him had-- but surely Esca would not want to--

"Then what?"

Marcus took a deep breath. "Clothing."

"Pardon?" Esca was staring, and for the life of him Marcus couldn't tell what he thought. If he even understood the nature of what Marcus had proposed. It was like those first days together when Esca had been little more than a statue, carved in the coldest marble. He could almost always read Esca these days, but it seemed that that was only because Esca let him. For here Esca was, obscuring his feelings. It was unsettling.

"Sometimes it is played thus--" Marcus took another breath, though it didn't steady him-- "so that the one who loses a match, he must remove a piece of clothing."

Esca's stare remained unreadable for one breath, two, while all the while blood pounded dizzily in Marcus' head. And then Esca grinned again, feral and daring.

"Well enough," he murmured. "It's a bit chilly. You wouldn't want to lose your tunic."

His hands shaking, Marcus began to set the board up again.

One of them would have to lose, he knew. And then the clothes would begin to come off. Either he would be half-naked and trying to maintain his composure (and his dignity, and please, oh, please, his lack of arousal) or Esca would, and he'd have to watch Esca. And try not to be so damned obvious. Or Esca would notice his... interest... for certain. Marcus wasn't sure which would be worse.

Mithras, he hoped he wasn't making a mistake. Some strategist he was.

* * *

Leaning forward over the little low table where the board was placed between them, Esca made a quick move, shoving a stone forward as if he hardly cared where it went. In this case, he stopped it right next to Marcus' black stone sitting in the open, a baited trap: Marcus' next move would be to bring another stone alongside it for the capture. It was almost insultingly obvious.

It was odd that Esca had not considered his move first, the way he had done in all their other games. Perhaps that would have stopped him from making it. Perhaps not. But, at any rate, it was unlike him.

"You hadn't wanted to think about that first?" Marcus inquired, as gently as he could. He didn't want to make it sound like he was crowing about his impending future victory too much, because then Esca would think Marcus wanted to watch him strip. Even though he did.

Esca shook his head, still with that same daring grin that made Marcus' heart race and-- no. He shouldn't think about it.

"It's my new strategy," said Esca, cheerfully. "Thinking about my move for ages obviously doesn't work. I thought I'd try not thinking and see where that got me."

Marcus slid his own stone forward, pinning Esca's and removing it from the board. "It doesn't get you very far."

The smile now had a strange hint of mystery to it. "We'll see."

* * *

Esca lost.

Of course he lost.

There was no strategy there, no tactics whatsoever; it seemed, as he had said, as if Esca had simply taken whatever move had first become apparent, heedless of the consequences. The board was a wreck this time. It had been a slaughter, latrunculi at Cannae. Every last one of Esca's pieces was gone, except the eagle that could only be trapped. Esca had been trying -- something, he had no clue what -- with his last ordinary stone, and he hadn't even noticed Marcus' stones coming up on his eagle on all sides, indeed, exactly like Cannae in the particulars, with Marcus as Hannibal and Esca as the unfortunate Roman legions.

It was a disaster. For everyone.

Esca had lost, and that meant Esca had to-- that he was going to--

"Well-played," Marcus said, hollowly, hoping the words did not sound as strange to Esca as they did in his own head.

Esca only grinned again. "Horribly-played, you mean." And he gave another little shrug. "Well," he added, "I've lost, and so we did agree--"

Holding his breath, Marcus waited for the ordinary, abashed, clothing forfeit of the loser. He had played this enough to be familiar with the haggling nature of it, like traders at a market: would one sandal be enough to start, or should it be two, because they came in pairs? Were bracelets or rings clothing? The loser would take off the smallest item he could spare. That was the way of it.

There, Esca was unfastening his belt. Removing it. That was small enough, the usual sort of forfeit. Marcus exhaled. At this rate, they might even stop playing before Esca got most of his clothes off.

In one fluid motion, Esca stood up and slid his tunic off over his head.

Marcus stared, open-mouthed.

The tunic dropped to the floor.

It was not as though he had never seen Esca bare-chested before -- Esca had been half-naked when Marcus had first set his eyes upon him, that long-ago day in the arena -- but something about it was different. Esca stood there, proud of his body, almost showing it off, the way he posed there with one hand set lazily at his hip. He was not posing for Marcus, of course, but Marcus could almost pretend he was.

Esca had never stopped being beautiful. He was nothing like the statues, nothing like the simpering pretty youths, but he was beautiful nonetheless. He was small but not weak, never weak: the lamplight reflected off planes of muscle, hard and angled, sharply defined, inviting the eye to trace down his chest to his stomach, to the jut of his hip, then to the crease leading even lower, past the edge of his braccae--

Swallowing hard, Marcus resisted the impulse, dragging his gaze hastily back to Esca's face. He hoped Esca had not noticed. Heat began to gather within him.

Esca smiled a little half-smile. "What?" he asked. "Do I look ill?"

"No, no!" The words rushed out of Marcus' mouth. "You look-- I only--" There was nothing good he could say. "You had best choose your moves more carefully next match," he finished. "You cannot want to lose."

"Mmm," Esca said, smiling, a noise that could have been agreement. "I will give it great thought, then."

* * *

That had been entirely the wrong advice.

Esca was considering his moves in a leisurely fashion once again, and while it had not improved his play in the slightest, it had dramatically worsened Marcus'. For while Esca was thinking, he was staring at the board, and that meant that there was nothing for Marcus to do but look at him.

It was Esca's turn, and he was halfway through his move; he had already picked up a piece, but seemed undecided on where to place it. Ordinarily, Marcus might remind a new player that he was committed to moving the piece once he'd touched it, but then Esca rolled the piece between his long fingers, almost caressing the smooth stone. He bit his lip a little in concentration. It was all too easy to think about his fingers, his mouth...

Marcus shuddered, a frisson of arousal that was nearly painful shaking through him, and he palmed desperately at his hardening erection and hoped that on the other side of the table Esca didn't notice.

When Esca finally put the piece down Marcus shoved one of his stones forward at random and promptly had it captured.

"Marcus, are you all right?"

"Fine."

He clenched his fist around the next stone. He didn't even know what piece he'd picked up.

Across the table, Esca smiled at him again, an encouraging smile, tilting his head. Marcus imagined kissing him just there, where his neck met his shoulder, such a vulnerable spot. Esca would trust him. Esca would lift his head for it, baring his throat, letting him lick and suck at the skin--

The board blurred as he let his head fall forward. 

This had not been one of his better ideas.

* * *

The worst part wasn't Esca losing again.

Marcus was certain of that. No, the worst part was now, in the last few turns before Esca's defeat, where the loss was nearly inevitable, and the horrible, wonderful anticipation was upon him. It was not quite as thorough a rout as the preceding matches; Marcus' concentration was more or less entirely wrecked.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Marcus asked, desperate for any reprieve, when Esca had begun to push his eagle forward against one of Marcus' pieces.

Esca stopped, one finger still resting on the piece. "Mmm," he said, and the sound was low, tinged with something that Marcus' fevered mind was only too happy to misinterpret. Marcus' cock strained against the wool of his braccae. "Why not?"

"Well-- well--" He was having a hard time thinking of words. "It's not the best move."

"I like it," Esca said, obstinately, decisively, and he shoved the eagle the rest of the way.

Trembling, Marcus picked up his own piece, the stone cool against his hot skin, and nestled it on the other side of the eagle. "You're pinned."

"Oh."

The noise Esca made was a tiny sound, and when he looked up Esca was standing and stretching, with the ease of a man perfectly at home in his own body, still every bit as attractive. One hand slid down his side, and he hooked a thumb in the waist of his braccae.

Marcus couldn't stop staring. Gods, Esca was going to notice, but he couldn't-- he couldn't--

"I suppose it's the braccae next, is it?" he heard his own voice asking, faintly.

Quirking an eyebrow, Esca grinned again, half-turning away, so that Marcus couldn't see his fingers working at the laces. It was both better and worse, because now he was rewarded with the smooth sweep of Esca's ass, slim and narrow, as muscled as the rest of him, an appealing swell of flesh, even covered by wool. Esca wore his braccae tight.

He could survive this. There were still all the underclothes to go.

"That wasn't the question you should have asked," Esca said, lightly, in a conversational tone.

"It wasn't?"

Light ran through Esca's hair as he shook his head. Even his back was pretty, Marcus noted, stupid with lust, the bones of his spine moving down in an elegant trail. How would it feel to touch Esca there? To run his hand down and down, to make Esca feel... all the things he shouldn't. Wouldn't.

"The question you should have asked," said Esca, with pure, perfect calm, "was whether I'm wearing anything underneath them."

Esca pushed the braccae down, revealing pale skin, exposing the naked curve of his ass, slowly, slowly, then further down still, where soft flesh sloped into muscled thigh. Stepping out of the braccae he turned, shaking his hips just a little, more graceful than any dancing-girl, each movement drawing Marcus' eyes to the unexpected lushness of him. He wanted to touch Esca, to run his fingers down him, to taste Esca, to open him, to know every secret place.

He was going to _die_.

Or possibly he was going to come in his own braccae. His cock twitched.

And then Esca turned back.

It was pointless to pretend he wasn't looking, the part of Marcus' mind that was still capable of any thought was babbling. Esca knew. He couldn't not know.

Esca was half-hard, his cock rising and darkening even as Marcus watched. Esca liked this. Esca liked him watching. Esca was still smiling at him.

"Are you glad you won, Marcus?" Esca's voice was a low rasp of desire, a voice Marcus had never heard from him, full of untold promises. "I'm glad you won."

"I-- I-- Esca--"

He couldn't speak.

"Maybe you're not, though." Esca stepped closer. His eyes were wide already, his face flushed. But he didn't touch Marcus. He only bent down toward the game-board. "Maybe your pride would not allow you to let yourself be defeated. But maybe, secretly, you would rather have lost, hmm?"

In one motion, he swept the pieces aside, clearing the board. Then he picked some of the stones up, one, two, three, four, five, and put them back down on the board. Marcus' eagle was in the very center of the bare board, with Esca's stones trapping it on all four sides, neatly bracketing it.

"Pinned," Esca whispered, his voice dark and predatory. "Do you like that? I think you do."

And he stepped even closer. One of his legs slipped between Marcus' thighs and Marcus groaned, thrusting up against Esca with helpless little jerks of his hips, oh, and if Esca just stayed here a little longer he was going to come--

But then Esca leaned back, just far enough to get his hand between them, working at the ties of Marcus' braccae with the same deliberation he had given to the game -- only faster, and with infinitely more promising results.

"That was an illegal move," Marcus pointed out, which for some reason were the only words at all left in his mind. "On the board."

"Marcus?" Esca smiled sweetly, and then bared his teeth. "I really don't care."

Esca dragged his head down with his free hand and kissed him hard, wet and positively filthy, rough and heavy, like he was already fucking him with his tongue. Marcus gasped and moaned and Esca only shoved his tongue in harder, and at some point the braccae had come undone and Esca was pushing him backwards onto the couch, dragging his braccae all the way off as he went.

He had a brief moment to wonder what Esca was doing, whether Esca had planned this, how long he had known, before Esca climbed back atop him, and it was the easiest thing in the world to grab Esca, to hold him down on top of him, to slide up against him, to run his hands down Esca's spine, splay his palms over Esca's ass. Esca shuddered and rocked back and whimpered, and Marcus knew he would remember that sound for the rest of his life.

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

But Esca shook his head. "I can't-- I won't last-- just please let me-- your thighs, please, I've been dreaming about your thighs for _months_ , Marcus--"

Esca loved even this about him. Esca didn't think he was broken, scarred forever. Marcus smiled and held Esca as he slid down, then locked his legs as tightly as he could. Esca gasped and thrust forward against him; Marcus could still feel the taut muscle of Esca's ass under his fingers as he moved; he could feel the heat of Esca's cock between his legs, right there. Above him Esca smiled. Marcus clenched harder, and Esca gasped again, shut his eyes, and came all over him.

"Here," Esca said, quickly, with remarkable composure, and then he had a hand between them; Marcus looked down to see Esca's hand wrapped about him, his cock sliding through Esca's fist, Esca, exactly there, touching him--

"Pinned," Esca whispered, and he was right here, atop him, there was only Esca, holding him down, like he'd always wanted--

He arched his back and let himself go.

* * *

"So," Marcus said, in bed, after the second time, immediately following, had proved just as entertaining as the first, "I have a question. Another question. Not about your braccae."

Esca's face was the very picture of innocence. "Hmm?"

"How bad at latrunculi are you? Truly."

Esca laughed. "Truly? As wretched as you think."

An idea began to form. "So you didn't set out to lose?" Could he really have--? No, that was just ridiculous.

"That," Esca said, very crisply, "is a secret." And then he laughed again. It wasn't much of a secret.

Marcus started chuckling. "Why did you even bother playing the game?"

"You like latrunculi. And you realize," Esca said, brightly, "that now I've won forever."

"Oh?"

He entwined his fingers with Marcus'. "I've got an eagle."

Marcus kissed him. "So you do."


End file.
